In the late forties, while living in Littleton, N.H., I had tried to start a magazine with the help of a college friend, Jacob Leed. He was living in Lititz, Pennsylvania, and had an old George Washington handpress. It was on that that we proposed to print the magazine. Then, at an unhappily critical moment, he broke his arm. I came running from New Hampshire

“So it’s finally all well in the past, either as one’s own experience of something, or else the communal fact of what the writers of that situation and time seemed to have had in mind. I don’t think it can ever be very different. You want to do something, to see it happen, and apparently it can’t, or at least can’t with what then exists as possibility. So you try to change it, and you do or don’t as proves the case. What really now delights me is that a magazine having a usual printing of some five hundred to seven hundred fifty copies, about two hundred of which ever got distributed, could have made any dent whatsoever. That should cheer us all.”